My dress was perfect, but the shoes were a concern. We had settled on lunch, but maybe dinner would have been preferable. I scanned the three menus on offer, wondering which would best reflect the kitchen’s style yet not break the bank. And I worried: what exactly was that flat spoon on my right designed to scoop up? These were just a few of the concerns that rattled my little foodie existence as I took my seat some 25 years ago at Paul Bocuse’s mythic Lyon restaurant, Auberge du Pont de Collonges. Widely regarded as the king, the father, the Pope of French cuisine, Bocuse was the world’s most famous chef whose restaurant had held on to its three-Michelin-star rating since 1963. I was 22 years old, and little did I know I was about to experience the meal that would determine my gourmet standards to come.

My worries melted away, somewhat, as the dishes started to be placed between the heavy silver cutlery. We started with an amuse-bouche made with lobster followed by buttery slices of terrine de foie gras. I then devoured the famous “Soupe aux truffes noires V.G.E.” Created for a banquet at the Elysée Palace in 1975 in honour of Bocuse receiving the Légion d’honneur, this soup consisted of a chicken and vegetable consommé ladled atop some 50 grams of sliced black truffles. Bocuse came up with the idea after watching his mushroom supplier pull a truffle out of his coat pocket and shave it into a potage aux légumes. The crafty chef enriched it further with cubes of foie gras and crowned his creation with a cap of puff pastry, transforming what was basically a simple peasant soup into one of the emblematic dishes of French haute cuisine. Turns out 50g of truffle slices filled a third of a bowl. To this day, I have never eaten so many in one shot.

After a brief, tableside greeting by Madame Bocuse — Yorkie pup in hand — a golden-skinned duck arrived on an ornate silver platter. The bird was offered in two services: first the rosé “magret” (breast), then the crisp cuisses (legs). Just when I was starting to feel the waistband straining on my dress, along came a multi-levelled cheese cart from which I chose a half dozen specimens, including a sublime Pont-l’Évêque and cork-sized crottins de Chavignol. I kid you not when I say the cheese course was followed by a crème brûlée. And that was just the pre-dessert. Despite the highs and large portions thus far, dessert was not only the most copious course, but the one that wowed most.

Three tables were set up around us, and bowls of poached fruit, tarts, charlottes, ice creams and sorbets were placed upon them. A magnificent Gâteau Président from the renowned Lyon pâtissier Bernachon was set in the middle of it all. After sampling a bit of everything along with a bottle from the nearest wine region, Beaujolais, the meal finished off with coffee, a tray of mignardises and Bernachon chocolates (Bocuse’s son had recently married Bernachon’s daughter, thus uniting two of Lyon’s great gourmet dynasties).

The final bill was 1,500 francs, the equivalent of $300 today. It was steep, but worth every centime. I staggered out of the restaurant and later lay on my bed feeling stuffed and a bit drugged. So this is what haute gastronomy was all about: hardcore — roll in the duck fat — gluttony. I enjoyed every mouthful.

Now, 25 years later, with hundreds — verging on thousands — of restaurant meals under my belt, I was headed back to Lyon. First order of business: return to Auberge du Pont de Collonges.

Although there were star chefs before Bocuse, like Carême, Escoffier, and his mentor Fernand Point, he was the first to emerge from the dark basement kitchens to shake hands and talk with his customers. Now 86 and in fragile health, Bocuse was no longer making the rounds of his restaurant. An interview, I was told, would be impossible. Though he had recently made an appearance alongside chef Daniel Boulud on Anthony Bourdain’s CNN program, Parts Unknown, his presence was subdued, hardly the gregarious chef I first interviewed at Montreal’s Ritz bar back in 1998. I wouldn’t see Bocuse, but I was eager to relive his magic.

Upon entering the dining room, I was taken aback by the luxury, the sheer perfection on display. The dining rooms at Auberge du Pont de Collonges remind me of the state rooms in Buckingham Palace, every inch of fabric, wall covering, silverware, mirrors and furniture is pristine. Glance to your left past the orchids and you see bottles of champagne cradled on ice, glance to your right and you see classic dishes like the famous loup en croûte feuilletée or the volaille de Bresse en vessie (yes, that’s chicken poached in a pig’s bladder), whizzing out of the open kitchen. The sheer number of swarming waiters, sommeliers and captains appeared to match the number of guests. As for the guests, there were children, couples, small groups, tourists — of course — yet mostly French people. Bocuse proudly boasted that his customer base included many locals. The democratization of haute cuisine, he once told me, meant that both international bankers and Lyonnais plumbers celebrated birthdays and anniversaries side by side at his restaurant.

As I sat soaking up the surroundings, there was no missing how serious it all was. There’s no fooling around at Bocuse. Every diner around me was so focused on his or her plate that no one was smiling, no one was laughing. Forget about background music, the ambience is church-like. Don’t bother joking around with your waiters, they won’t play along. I managed to get a nervous grin out of the young sommelier, but that was about it. Needless to say, yours truly was the only person taking pictures of her food. I would rather have eaten my phone than ask the maître d’ for a Wi-Fi password.

Though the Auberge du Pont de Collonges has long been regarded as one of the least expensive three-Michelin-starred restaurants, prices are steep. That truffle soup I enjoyed back in 1989 is now $125 a bowl. The roasted duck? $245 for two. The cheese course is $45 and the Bresse chicken poached in a pig’s bladder is $325. The menu Grande Tradition Classique will set you back a cool $370 (wine not included). My lunch for two came in at $800. Ouch.

But was it worth it?

No doubt, to enjoy a meal in this, the Vatican of gastronomy, is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. When lofty terms like “haute temples de gastronomie” are bandied about, restaurants like Bocuse’s top the list. And there are so few of them any more. The area around Lyon once counted numerous Michelin-starred restaurants renowned for their elaborate French cuisine. Yet today with the concentration of French culinary talent focused in Paris, these once cutting-edge homes of France’s Nouvelle Cuisine have started to feel a lot less nouvelle and a lot more like culinary museums of sorts where you can sample famous dishes created at their source. And many are still going strong. Lunch at Bocuse on this beautiful Sunday was packed over two floors. Could the restaurant’s popularity be explained as a last chance to dine at the table of the world’s greatest chef while he is still a presence — albeit it a rare one — in his kitchens? Perhaps, because — alas — I would not travel the distance or pay the price solely on the basis of the food.

The cuisine that Bocuse’s generation created is still delicious, but hardly exciting compared to the most cutting-edge creations on the upper echelon of the international gourmet scene. There is a simplicity here and a quality of ingredients that is impressive, and yet a lack of modernity that drags the experience down.

The richness was overwhelming. An amuse-bouche trio featured a foie gras crème brûlée on a menu that then included hot foie gras as its first course. A red mullet topped with faux scales made of potato slices was exquisite, but the pigeon “en feuilleté” with cabbage was overcooked and dry. A plate of volaille de Bresse with morels and a cream sauce included the skinniest of chicken legs and a side serving of sautéed spinach, carrot sticks and a quenelle of gummy risotto. Considering the vegetable revolution occurring in fine dining these days and the quality of ingredients available in this region, that vegetable assortment completely missed the mark. There is such an obvious rejection of evolution in this restaurant that it is hard to believe this chef was considered such a groundbreaker back in the early ’60s when he won his third Michelin star. Part of me felt like I was at a Rolling Stones concert where they didn’t play one song after the Sticky Fingers album.

Superb cheeses and the lovely dessert table set-up followed, but after the onslaught of cloying courses at the outset of the meal, I didn’t feel stuffed this time so much as sick. Now 25 years later, this sort of old-school French food wreaked havoc on my system. Two days later, I still felt full.

Exiting the Auberge du Pont de Collonges, I passed through the gift shop, picked up a few books and admired the countless pictures of Bocuse and his equally charismatic chef buddies in kitchens from Florida to Tokyo and Paris to New York. No doubt, “Monsieur Paul,” as he is known by friends, was the mastermind behind this ravishing world of French gastronomy and its greatest ambassador. To dine at his table remains a privilege, not only to taste the best dishes, but to witness the end of such a magnificent era.

You can hear Lesley Chesterman on ICI Radio-Canada Première’s (95.1 FM) Médium Large Tuesdays at 10 a.m., and on CHOM (97.7 FM) Wednesdays at 7:10 a.m.

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